


Where He Goes

by OrmondSacker



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Destiny, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Rogue One, Slow Burn, The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: They are twelve when they think they've found their only homes.They are fifteen when they meet.Baze is sixteen when Chirrut first tries to kiss him.Baze is eighteen when he achieves his third duan.Chirrut is eighteen when he learns he's going blind.A series of important scenes in the lives of Baze Malbus and Chirrut Îmwe, together and apart, from childhood and until their deaths. Yes it still have a happy ending.





	1. Chapter 1

They are twelve when they think they've found their only homes 

 

Baze is with the Kyber temple already, studying among the Guardians to become one of them. But even before he comes to this place his heart is filled with light.  

Whenever the priest in the village where he grows up speaks of the Force and the Whills, little Baze will sit and listen with rapt attention. So even before he becomes an adolescent it is clear that Baze Malbus is not meant for villages and farming. 

It is with heavy heart that his family sends him away. He is a loving child, always smiling and happy, bringing joy wherever he goes. But it is with even heavier heart that Baze leaves them and as much as he quickly comes to enjoy life in the Kyber Temple, there are always times where he misses them terribly. 

He learns the devotions of the Guardians, hoping he will one day become one. He is trained with weapons, showing particular promise with hand to hand combat. He meditates in the crystal chamber, feeling the warmth that the Kyber gives off deep in his heart. 

And though he still often misses living with his family, Baze Malbus knows that in the Temple of the Whills he has found his home.  

 

oOoOo 

 

Chirrut lives mostly in the streets. Not because he wants to, or because he doesn't have a family, but because hard as life on the streets of Jedha City is his family is harsher still. 

He is the second youngest of five and he never figures out why he's the one who got targeted, by the time he's twelve he has realized that there probably isn't one and that having wealth doesn't mean having kindness. Bullies don't need reasons they just need victims and Chirrut's done being that. 

He learns how to survive on his own. Whom to steal from, who can be swindled, where to find shelter from the freezing desert winds and who will take him in when normal shelter won't suffice. Who is safe for a street waif and who isn't.  

The last lesson he learns the hard way. 

He is small, lean and quick, and he knows the streets of NiJedha like his own hand. Those streets are his home, the only one he thinks he'll ever know. 


	2. Chapter 2

They are fifteen when they meet. 

 

Baze is slow to anger, but there is one thing that will rise his ire quickly, those who prey on others. Chirrut's temper is quicker and harder, honed to a fine edge by the necessity of survival, and often selfish, but he will not stand by when someone weaker than him is bullied. 

On a cold winter day, a biting wind coming in from the desert, they both find themselves on one of Jedha'ss many marked places. Baze has been tasked with buying supplies for the temple, Chirrut knows it's one of the better places to beg or lift the pockets of unwary off-worlders. 

Chirrut notices them first, the group of kids, half grown and gangly though younger than he, harassing a blind beggar. He knows them, knows they're no good, has had more than one scrap with them already. Just as important, they know him and that he is one to be wary of. 

But before he can cross the marked place Chirrut sees a young initiate from the temple, recognizable by the black robe with its white undergarment, close in on them, clearly intent on a confrontation. 

He shakes his head, thinking that the other young man will just get beat up. 

Of course a fight is joined, the young delinquents unwilling to give up their prey without one and the initiate equally unwilling to back down.  

Chirrut has never seen anyone move in a fight the way the initiate does. His movements are fluid and graceful, but also strong and precise. But he doesn't know the tricks of a street fight and as Chirrut closes with the group, the initiate is almost overwhelmed by the number of opponents and their tricks. 

Chirrut does know them and employs them eagerly. A quick handful of sand thrown into the eyes of two of the gang, blinding them and taking them out of the fight. A swift kick aimed at a knee sends another sprawling. It gives the initiate enough breathing space that he comes back with a vengeance. 

"Thank you!" the young man shouts at Chirrut as he spins on the balls of one foot, making a high kick that sends one hooligan into the dust. 

"You're welcome," Chirrut replies with a grin as he positions himself so that he has his back to the initiate. It's an odd feeling fighting back to back with someone, he's never done that before and it gives him an odd warm feeling. 

Maybe it's the feeling distracting him or maybe it's just bad luck, but he doesn't see the stone thrown at his head, only feels the sharp pain as it strikes his temple and sends him tumbling into darkness. The last thing he hears before it closes over his head is a 'Hey!' yelled in the initiate's deep voice. 

 

oOoOo 

 

Baze watches the young street waif as he lies on the bed in the temple's infirmary, still unconscious from the blow to his head. Guardian Wazir has promised he will be well and Baze has never know her to tell a lie, but still he worries. The young man have been lying so still for so long, his chest barely moving as he breathes. 

He looks so small to Baze's eyes as he lies there, looking nothing at all like the impressive boy that leapt into the fight, all arms and legs but clearly knowing what he was doing. If he hadn't interfered Baze knows he would have lost the fight and maybe more than that, but thanks to the young man on the bed he hadn't. Thanks to him Baze had got the breathing space necessary to get all of the troublemakers off them. 

It was when they retreated he has seen the boy lying prostate on the ground, bleeding from the head. The beggar he had first come to defense of had been nowhere in sight. 

Baze had carried the unconscious young man back to the temple, knowing that no other would be likely to take in the injured, pennyless boy. 

The young man on the bed suddenly twitches and Baze's attention immediately returns to the present. The boy's eyes are fluttering underneath their lids, quickly as if he's dreaming. 

"Hey," Baze calls softly, not sure if he should try to bring him back or leave him to wake on his own. Guardian Wazir would know. Hurriedly he gets to his feet and heads off to find her. 

When he returns with her the young man is struggling to get out of bed, his movements uncoordinated and clumsy. 

"Lie down young man," Wazir says. 

"No, I'm leaving," the boys snaps back and Baze can't hold back a gasp of surprise. That is no way to speak to an elder or a Guardian. 

Baze looks at Wazir, but all she does is stand and watch, arms folded over her chest, as the young man struggles to stand up. Impressively he manages to get his feet under him and take two steps forward before he loses his balance and would have fallen to the floor had Wazir not grabbed hold of him. 

She guides him back to the bed. 

"Now that it's been proven to you that you're not going anywhere at the moment, will you remain in your bed of your own good sense? Or shall I treat you as if the Force have robbed you of your wits?" 

"My head hurts," the boy mutters. 

"You have a concussion. The more you move about, the longer it will take your head to heal. Now will you listen to sense and lie down?" 

The boy silently acquiesces and Wazir lays him down on the bed and sits on the edge. 

"I am Guardian Fadheela Wazir. What's your name?" she asks. 

The boy just stares at her, with hard, distant eyes. Wazir shrugs. 

"As you wish. Now follow my finger only with your eyes." 

Silently the boy obeys. 

"Good. Does it hurt anywhere?" 

"Not apart from my head." 

"You have quite a few bruises." 

The young man just shrugs. 

"Very well. Do you feel tired?" 

"Not really." 

Wazir nods. 

"There isn't much I can do for your headache, it will pass as you heal." She gets up from the bed. "Malbus, I leave him in your care. Perhaps he'll respond better to someone his own age. See if you can get him to eat something light later. If he can't keep it down come fetch me. Otherwise I'll see him and you tomorrow to see how he progresses. I'll let your teachers know that you'll be otherwise engaed for the time being." 

"I'm not a charity case." The young man is halfway off the bed, his eyes angry and his voice filled with pride. 

"No," Wazir replies. "You're a young man, who was badly injured when he acted bravely. And who's hopeful intelligent enough to stay put and _heal_." 

Maybe it's the firmness in Wazir's voice, or maybe sitting up hurts too much, but the young man lies down again though the expression on his face remains guarded and displeased. 

Wazir leaves, leaving Baze and the young man to stare somewhat awkwardly at each other. After a moment, Baze recalls what it was he had wanted to say when the other woke up. 

"Thank you." 

The other boy just continues staring at him, a frown forming between his eyebrows. 

"I mean for saving my skin out there. It could have gone bad if you hadn't. So, thanks." 

The boy looks puzzled and surprised at Baze's words, then answers with a shrug. 

"I don't like bullies," he says. 

"Me neither," Baze replies. 

Another moment of silence passes before the young man speaks again. 

"Can you teach me to fight like you do?" 

"Not me, I'm still just a student." The gets a surprised blink from the boy. "The masters certainly could, but you'd have to stick around here a lot longer than just to heal if that's what you want." 

Baze sits down on the bed near the foot end as he speaks. The boy's eyes follow him carefully as he moves. Baze supposes he's used to being on guard all the time towards strangers and though Baze knows the temple is a safe place where no harm will come to him the boy still does not. 

"How long?" the other asks. 

"Depends on how much you want to learn. Though it's part of the training of becoming a Guardian, you'd have to take that along with it." 

The boy's frown deepens. 

"What would that mean?" 

Baze almost starts explaining what being a Guardian, training for it means, but stops himself. 

Wazir left him in charge of the young man and he looks like he could be quite a handful, even more so when he starts getting better. Baze isn't naturally manipulative, but he can't help thinking that having something that the other boy is interested in might help keeping him put a little longer than otherwise. 

So instead Baze says, "You know, I don't think we should talk this much. Your head needs rest and talking makes you focus too much. But we can continue talking later." 

The young man's eyes turns speculative as he studies Baze. 

"You're holding out on me so I'll stay put and wait for your answers, aren't you?" 

Baze huffs. He supposes it is pretty transparent. He might as well own up. 

"Yes. Is it going to work?" 

"If I stay and rest, will you answer my questions?" 

"Some of them. I think you have a lot and I'm not answering them all at once, because then I'd have nothing." 

He's worried that the young man might get angry or stubborn, but instead the youth flashes him a wide grin, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. 

"Deal," he says and Baze draws an invisible sigh of relief. 

"Chirrut Imwe," the young man says and it takes Baze a moment to realize that he just got his name. 

"I'm Baze Malbus. Honored to meet you Chirrut Imwe," he returns and gather his hands in a formal bow as he introduces himself. 

"And I you." Chirrut's words sounds awkward and he repeats Baze's bow inelegantly, in part because of his prostate position, but just as much Baze thinks because he's unaccustomed to formal greetings. 

"I should go see to my duties. Even if I have no lessons I still have those. Can I trust you to stay there?" 

"You have me fully in your power, Master Malbus." 

Chirrut's tone is so dramatic that Baze can't help but laugh, something that makes the other smile again that same flash of teeth and gums. 

"Not master, just initiate. And Baze will do fine." 

Chirrut smiles again, this time just a curl of his lips, but it seems no less radiant to Baze for that. 

"Will you tell me about them later?" Chirrut asks. "Your duties?" 

"Sure, if you want to know." 

"I do." 

"I will then. But you should rest now." 

With another flash of a smile Chirrut rolls over on his back, closes his eyes and folds his hands on his chest with a dramatic gesture.  

Baze snorts. 

"I'll bring you something light to eat when I come back and there's water on the table next to you if you haven't seen it," he says as parting words. 

"I await your return with bated breath," he hears Chirrut says as he closes the door behind him, unsurprised that Chirrut would try his hardest to get the last word. 

As he goes about his daily duties Baze's thoughts keep drifting to the proud, stubborn young man, with his wide grin and sparkling eyes. A mistrustful young man who seems to have chosen to trust Baze for some reason and that he's now responsible for. 

He finds that he doesn't really mind that. 

 

oOoOo 

 

Lying in the bed in the temple's infirmary Chirrut's thoughts, scattered as they are from the concussion, drifts to Baze Malbus. 

Baze who's first words to him was 'thank you'. Who had spoken to him as an equal, with respect and respect. Who had promised to look after him and not just Chirrut thinks because the healer had tasked him to. 

He isn't sure what to make of this place or its people, if it's a safe place or one he will like. But he agrees with himself that he'll listen to what Baze has to say before deciding if he's going to stay or not and if so for how long. 


	3. Chapter 3

Baze is sixteen when Chirrut first tries to kiss him. 

 

 

"I am one with the Force and the Force is with me." Baze's voice is low, but firm and steady as he leads the chant. 

"The Force is with me and I'm one with the Force," comes Chirrut's reply as it should, ending the circle. Only to have Baze start it again, which in turn prompts Chirrut's answer, over and over in a circle without ending. 

They are seated cross legged, opposite each other, in the Kyber Hall, surrounded by the sacred, living crystals on all sides, touched by the warmth that they radiate. A warmth that Baze has always felt all the way to his bones when he meditated deeply and lately when he is with Chirrut. 

Their chant is echoed by the other acolytes around them, a low and steady sound that fills the chamber with its peaceful harmony. 

The purpose of the chant is to center oneself in both one's body and in the Force, something Baze knows he finds easier than Chirrut does. 

Technically Baze is far too far along in his studies to be practicing with a relative newcomer as Chirrut who's been there less than a year. In most cases he would have been assigned to a junior student to help guide him and settle him in. 

But stubborn, willful and constantly filled with questions, Chirrut is a handful even at the best of times and Baze seems to be the only one who can tame him even a little. Scolding?, Lectures? Nothing bites on Chirrut, but when Baze folds his arms and his brows knit together, his friend usually pays heed. So it was generally quietly accepted that Baze was the one who guided Chirrut. 

Baze knows they make for an odd pair. Himself tall and broad, and promising to get even taller and broader now that he's going through yet another growth spurt, quiet, devout and studios; and Chirrut small and while no longer as whip thin as when he came still lean and wiry, with a sharp mind but disinclined to books and a quick tongue. 

But he enjoys Chirrut's company, mostly because of that quick wit and tongue. Chirrut can make him laugh like no other, even if his irrevences often gets on Baze's nerves. If he could change on thing in Chirrut it would be his lack of respect for the elder and the Force. But then if he did, Chirrut wouldn't really be Chirrut anymore. So even when his friend's slightly disrespectful remarks makes him annoyed, he wouldn't be without him. 

And Chirrut seems to like his company as well. He always listen attentively to what Baze says. Then of course he'll argue, but he always listens first. No matter how obscure or even boring the topic. The attentive look Chirrut gives him when he listens always makes Baze feel slightly edgy, but in an oddly pleasant way that he's never experienced before. 

A sharp prod of a foot against his shin makes him crack one eye open and see Chirrut frowning at him, a question in his eyes and Baze realizes that he has stopped the chant. He shakes his head minutely having no real answer for Chirrut's mute question. Chirrut nods and closes his eyes again. Baze picks up the chant once more, trying his best now to remain focused. 

 

oOoOo

 

"What happened?" Chirrut asks afterwards. "Why did you stop?" 

Baze shrugs, embarrassed. He's glad it had been Chirrut who caught him, not one of the masters, but has no more answer to it now than he did before. 

"I got distracted," he finally says. 

" _You_?" Chirrut's tone is one of sheer incredulity. "What could possibly distract you?" 

"You constantly making trouble."  

He doesn't know how to tell Chirrut that he was thinking about him, the two of them. Something that, if he's going to be fully honest, have been happening more and more lately and distracts him at inconvenient moments. Though never before this inconvenient. 

"That's nothing new. Why is that distracting you now?" 

"Because it might get you thrown out and I don't want to see you leave." 

As he speaks Baze realizes how much truth there is in those words and how cold the thought of Chirrut leaving makes him. 

Chirrut stops dead and Baze almost bowls into him. 

"That bothers you?" 

"Yes!" 

"Why?" 

"Because- because you're my friend." 

Chirrut studies him carefully. 

"You have other friends," he finally says. 

There is a quietness in Chirrut's tone that Baze doesn't like. Objectively it's true, Baze does have other friends, lots of them, he's far more social than Chirrut who keeps everyone at arms length. 

"Yes, but none of them are you." And that's true as well, in far more ways than the first. 

The quick grin Chirrut flashes him makes his heart skip a beat. 

 

oOoOo 

 

The sound of a soft whimper wakes Baze. He lies still in the dark of the room that he and Chirrut shares, listening. 

He hears the sharp, rapid huffs of breath from the other, the strangled sound of something that is never quite a scream. 

Baze swallows. He knows those sounds too well and lies as still as he can, hoping that Chirrut will sleep through whatever nightmare it is he has. If he does, Baze knows from experience that whatever it is will be forgotten when the sun comes up, but if he wakes then it might linger for days. Chirrut rarely speaks of his dreams, especially the bad ones, but Baze can see the haunted look in his friend's eyes, how it seems to dig in and stay if he wakes up. 

So Baze doesn't move a muscle and keeps his own breathing as quiet as he can, hoping Chirrut will remain asleep. A harsh gasp and a sharp creak from the bed lets him know that there'll be no such luck tonight. 

He waits a little while until Chirrut has his breathing under control again. 

"Do you want to sleep over here?" he asks. 

This isn't the first time they're doing this and Baze doubts it'll be the last. The very first time he offered he sounded awkward and he thought Chirrut might shut him down in anger. Chirrut always prides himself on managing on his own and rarely accepts help from anyone, even Baze, so the fact that Chirrut willingly, even eagerly, had slipped into Baze's bed, always worried Baze more than he could say. 

This night too. 

Chirrut's bed creak and there's the soft sound of naked feet against stone as Chirrut crosses the space between their beds. Silently he slips beneath the covers and scoots up against Baze's solid form. Baze wraps an arm around his chest. 

He can feel how Chirrut is still trembling a little, shivers that he can't control running through his body. 

Neither speaks, they never do, but Baze lets his hand draw small circles on Chirrut's back, he knows that calms him. 

Slowly the shivering stops and Chirrut lies silently tugged up against Baze. 

Baze waits for his friend's breath to start evening out and deepen, signaling him going back to sleep. He hopes he can, the nights that Chirrut can't are the worst ones where he'll start shivering again, trying to restrain it and clutch at Baze's nightrobe, as if he fears that Baze is just some figment of his mind and will disappear if he doesn't hold on tightly. 

But tonight he lies still and quiet in Baze's arms. He has begun to build muscle tone and Baze can feel the solidity of them and of Chirrut's body through the thin fabrics of their nightclothes. 

"Do you like me?" Chirrut suddenly asks, the fact that he speaks almost as much of a surprise as the question itself. He never talks on nights like this. The question though chills Baze's blood. 

Though neither of them can see in the darkness of their room Baze scoots down so he's face to face with Chirrut, letting his hand slide up so it is resting just below Chirrut's neck. 

"Of course I like you." He puts as much vehemence into his voice as he can. He has no idea what has sparked this, but he wants to be sure that Chirrut knows. For all the cockiness and confidence Chirrut usually displays Baze has sometimes noticed an odd fragility in him. 

A small surprised sound escapes Chirrut at his words. 

"What are you going to do about it?" Chirrut asks. 

If the first question disturbed Baze this just plain out makes no sense. 

"I _am_ doing something," he says, tightening his arm around Chirrut a little. He's trying to be a friend, surely that qualifies as something. 

Chirrut goes very still and Baze hears him swallow audibly. 

Then out of the blue Chirrut's lips are on his. They're warm and hard and demanding. Chirrut's body is pressed against his and it all feels like too much and Baze freezes up, his heart racing in his chest. A small sound he hadn't know himself capable of making escapes his mouth. 

Chirrut seems to take the sound as encouragement. He presses even harder in against Baze and the warmth he usually feels when Chirrut is around suddenly changes so it feel too hot and not good at all. It makes his skin feel too tight in an unfamiliar way that feels like far too much in this moment, but it isn't until Chirrut's fingers starts fumbling at his waist, pushing beneath his night robe, that he's spurred into action, his discomfort turning into repulsion. 

He grabs Chirrut's hands and pulls them away. 

" _What_ do you think you're doing?" 

"You said you liked me?" Chirrut sounds puzzled and confused. 

"Not like- like this. It's-" He struggles for words, everything in his body feeling off. "It makes me _feel_ wrong." 

Chirrut makes a small, strangled sound and if Baze hadn't been so caught in his own feelings he would have noticed how the other young man went rigid. 

"It- it makes my skin feel... bad." He can't think of another word for it, not one that won't make Chirrut feel terrible. Baze isn't sure what just happened, but he knows Chirrut would never willingly hurt him, not like this, that all of this must be some sort of big misunderstanding and he doesn't want his friend to feel too terrible about it. 

Chirrut lets out a gasp as if Baze just sucker punched him, leaps out of the bed and runs out the door before Baze can act. His belated, "Chirrut!" is swallowed by the darkness of their room, Chirrut already far to far away to hear it. 

 

oOoOo 

 

Baze lies awake for hours, waiting for Chirrut to come back. The first faint rays of dawn is breaking in the when he finally drifts off again, too tired to keep awake any longer. When he wakes again the sun is fully in the sky, it's light showing him with clarity that Chirrut's bed is empty and unmade. He can't have come back then. 

The thought gives Baze an unsettled feeling in his stomach. 

He considers waiting for Chirrut to show up, he'll need his robes and other things for the day so surely he must come. But Baze has promised to help in the temple garden before lessons so he dresses himself and leaves. He can always talk to Chirrut after one of the meals, or tonight before bed. 

But Chirrut doesn't show up at any of the meals and at the one lesson they have together that day, hand to hand combat, he only sees the top of Chirrut's head at the other side of the courtyard. The lesson is barely over before Chirrut disappears inside the temple again, never giving Baze time to get close to him. 

That hurts in a way Baze has never felt before. His stomach seems to fold in on itself and it feels like there's not enough air in the courtyard for him to breathe when he watches Chittu's back disappear inside the dark door opening. He wishes he hadn't spoken so harshly to Chirrut that night. No what Chirrut did hadn't felt good at all, but having him run away like this felt infinitely worse. 

He can't find Chirrut at the evening meal either and though he lies awake for hours his friend never comes to their room. In the morning nothing on Chirrut's side of the room have been touched. 

 

oOoOo 

 

Three more days go by like this, Baze only spotting Chirrut intermittently in lessons and his friend being gone so quickly he never has time to corner him. He doesn't show up at all at meals. Baze worries if Chirrut eats at all, and he starts finishing fast and leaving just in case Chirrut is keeping an eye out, so he knows he can eat in peace. He still feels terrible about it all and about Chirrut avoiding him like that, but he doesn't want him to starve because of it. 

Another thing that eats Baze is that Chirrut might think he is angry with him, he can't forget that pained little gasp that esacped Chirrut before he ran off that night. He knows his tone was a little hard, be had been upset, but now he wishes he had spoken more softly. 

It's the evening for the fourth day when Chirrut finally does come back. Baze had just about resolved to try and hunt his friend down the next day and if that didn't work ask the masters for help. But as he sits that evening on his bed studying text on the changes in Jedhan legal practice with the exile of the great houses and the institution of an elective leader, there is a knock on the door. 

Baze puts down the holotext he has in his hands. 

"Yes?" 

It is Chirrut who steps through the door. 

He looks terrible. Baze can't see his eyes properly because he keeps his gaze firmly locked on the floor, but his skin is not a good color, his hair and robes are shabby and disarrayed, and his shoulders are hunched over. 

Before Baze can speak Chirrut says, "I'm sorry", never looking up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" His voice breaks, leaving the room filled with nothing but the sound of his strangled breath. 

Cautiously Baze gets off the bed and approaches Chirrut, moving slowly, afraid to startle him. He doesn't want his friend to run off again and right now Chirrut looks two seconds away from bolting again. 

He puts a hand on Chirrut's arm and the other boy jumps, but still doesn't raise his gaze. Thankfully he doesn't run either Baze can feel how his friend is trembling under his touch. 

"Chirrut? Are you alright?" 

He nearly kicks himself, it's such a stupid question. Clearly Chirrut isn't. Chirrut doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the floor, tiny tremors running through his body. 

"Come, come here," Baze continues, pulling gently on Chirrut's arm. "Come sit with me, please?" 

They need to talk and standing here, in the middle of the room, feels weird. 

Mutely Chirrut allows Baze to guide him to Baze's bed and sit on the edge, looking at his hands that are clasped tightly in his lap. Baze sits down next to him. 

"Will you tell me why you ran off like that?" he asks. 

"I made you feel wrong," Chirrut replies in a voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. I thought-" 

"You thought what?" 

"That you'd like I. You said you liked me. And sometimes..." 

"Sometimes what?" 

"Sometimes you look at me in- in a way that- I thought it meant you would-" 

Chirrut's voice breaks fully and he falls silent. Baze barely know where to start with it all. 

"I _do_ like you. We're friends. But that doesn't mean that I want to kiss you. I haven't been looking at you in any particular way. And, and even if had, if I did want you to, what was that last thing about? Where you-" He doesn't know how to continue and lets his words hang in the air, hoping Chirrut will get what he's referring to. 

Chirrut lifts his eyes from his hands halfway, only to immediately lower them again. 

"That's usually what goes with kissing, isn't it?" 

The pieces of the puzzle to why Chirrut behaved like he did starts to come together in Baze's head and he doesn't like the picture they form, not one bit. But he still feels compelled to ask, "Did it happen a lot when... when you've kissed people in the past?" 

"Most times." Chirrut's voice is so soft, Baze almost can't hear his reply. 

"When?" 

Chirrut shrugs. 

"When I lived on the streets. It made me feel... wrong, but it helped me find shelter when it was too cold to survive outside." 

The words make Baze feel sick. He remembers the boy that he met a year ago, small and whip thin. That he-  That that had happened to his friend made him want to angrily ask Chirrut who, find them and... he's not sure what he'd do if he found them, but he's sure he could think of something. 

But Chirrut doesn't need his anger right now and it's a very different form of protection that he needs. Baze just hopes he's old and wise enough to give it, right now he feels very young and out of his depths, but he's all Chirrut has in this moment and he's not turning his back on his friend. So he takes a deep breath and swallows his anger. 

"You don't have to here," he says gently. 

"I know." 

"Then, why?" Now Baze really don't understanf. 

"I really did think you would like it. I'm sorry, I know how it is to feel so- I didn't mean to make you feel like that, Baze." 

Chirrut voice sounds so small and his fingers are clenching in the fabric of his robe. 

Baze tries to think of what else to say. He doesn’t want to tell Chirrut that it didn't matter and that it was fine, because it does and it wasn't, but he wants his friend to stop dwelling on it that much. It's tormenting him a whole lot more than it ever did Baze. 

"Would you? Have liked it?" he finally asks. That's what bothers him the most, that Chirrut would do something he really doesn't like just for Baze's sake. 

Chirrut shrugs again. 

"I wouldn't have minded. You're gentle, I know you wouldn't hurt me." 

Baze thought that nothing could possibly feel any worse, but Chirrut's words cuts his heart to pieces. 

Swallowing, he tries to find his voice. 

"Chirrut, this- kissing someone isn't something you do just because you think they want to and you wouldn't mind it. If not both people want to then it shouldn't happen." 

Not that he knows that much about kissing. He haven't ever kissed anyone himself, never wanted to, but he do know that much. 

Chirrut just sits in silence, his fingers fiddling with his robe. 

"Can I- Can I give you a hug?" Baze asks him after a few moments of silence. He isn't sure it's a good idea to touch Chirrut right now, but he's trying to think of some way to comfort his friend. 

His words finally gets Chirrut to look up at him. His eyes are red, but whether from crying, lack of sleep or both Baze doesn't know, and his lips are pinched tightly together. 

"You want to hug me?" he asks quietly. 

"Yes. If you're okay with that. I want to help you, but nothing I say seems to. So I thought, maybe a hug would." 

Chirrut just stares at him looking so lost that Baze's heart aches. 

"Shouldn't I be upset?" 

A loaded question, but Baze tries his best to answer it. 

"I understand why you are, you have a good heart Chirrut. But you're more upset by this than I am. And I understand why that is too with... what happened to you." He wishes he could address it more directly, but right now he can't make himself say it out loud, can't even bare to think it all the way through to the end. "You- You're my friend, I want to help you be less upset. Chirrut, if you need my forgiveness then you have it. I'm okay, I didn't really get hurt." 

"We're still friends?" The raw tone in Chirrut's voice when he asks, feels like a knife in Baze's gut. 

"Yes, yes we are. Always. Let me help you?" 

Chirrut nods and his fingers let go of their stranglehold on his robe. Baze holds his arms open and tentatively Chirrut shifts closer, wraps his arms around Baze's chest and puts his head on his shoulder. Baze gently folds his arms around Chirrut's shoulders in a light embrace. He can feel how much Chirrut is still trembling now that he's leaned in against him. 

"It's okay. I'm here, you're not alone," he whispers. "I won't leave you. I was so worried Chirrut, in the last few days. Not seeing you or being able to talk to you. I know you can look after yourself, but I wanted to know how you were after you ran out, to talk to you. I don't want you to be hurt." 

There is no response from Chirrut except a reflexive tightening of his hands in Baze's robe and a very loud gulp. Silence stretches for several seconds, then Baze notices that the shoulder of his robe is getting wet. 

He has never known anyone who could cry completely silent before and it makes him wonder if there has been other times where Chirrut cried and he didn't notice because there was no sound, not even a hitch in his breathing. 

Baze tightens his arms around Chirrut in a heartfelt attempt at offering comfort, as he runs one hand over Chirrut's hair, smoothing down the fine strands. 

He keeps holding Chirrut until his trembling stops and the other boy draws a single, deep shuddering breath before surreptitiously wiping the tears from his face. After that Chirrut just stares at his hand as if he doesn't know quite what to do with is or with himself. 

Baze takes it in his own, mostly to give Chirrut something to hold on to. It's like ice, the veins blue and notable against the skin, and a thought strikes Baze. 

"Chirrut, when did you last eat." 

His friend just shrugs at the question and Baze get the suspicious that the non answer means all of the past four days. 

"Dammit," he swears, a sudden heat in his voice. "You can't just- Stay there."  

He knows he shouldn't be snapping at Chirrut, but he can't help it. He's reached his breaking point. That Chirrut have deliberately been starving himself is the last straw. 

He goes to his small locker, where he among his personal belongings and clothes also keep a stash of snacks. He tend to get hungry at inconvenient times and so has taken to have something to eat close to hand. 

He picks two _yentha_ sticks out of his stash. They'll be perfect, made as they are of dried fruit bits and grains soaked in honey from rock bees. He hands them to Chirrut who hesitantly takes them. 

"Eat." 

Chirrut looks at the food in his hand, an expression on his face that Baze can't interpret. Then he breaks off a small piece, puts it in his mouth and chews slowly. Baze watches him in silence as he finishes one of the sticks. Chirrut looks at the second one. 

"I don't think I can eat anymore. I don't have a lot of appetite right now," he says quietly. 

Part of Baze wants to push, it's nearly nothing that Chirrut has eaten, but if he really haven't eaten in four days then Baze knows that too much too quickly is a bad idea. So he lets it drop. 

"Let's tug you in then," he says instead, keeping his voice gentle. Chirrut is harsh enough on himself, Baze doesn't want to make it worse and seeing him eat something has calmed some of that angry fire that had settled in his chest. 

Chirrut gives him a puzzled look. 

"You look like you haven't slept either." 

"I have," Chirrut protests. 

"Where? Clearly not in your bed." 

The other boy just looks away and shrugs again. 

"Nevermind, let's just get you into bed." 

Chirrut gets off Baze's bed and walks over to his own, putting the _yentha_ stick down on the nightstand before shrugging out off his robe and toeing off his boots. He crawls into his bed and curls up on his side, looking silently at Baze. 

Baze turns off most of the light in the room except his own small lamp at the bed, before sitting down on the edge of Chirrut's. 

"Come on, little bird. Close your eyes." A flicker of distress flits across Chirrut's face at the sound of the affectionate nickname. "You don't like me calling you that?" Had the nickname always upset him and it's only now that some of his usual self control is gone that it is showing? 

"You're so kind it hurts. I thought you would be angry." 

Baze slides off the bed and kneels down on the stone floor, taking Chirrut's hands in his. They're still so cold and Baze cups his own warm fingers around them. 

"I'm not angry," Baze emphasizes again. "I was a little, just after. But you stopped when I told you to, so I was worried more than anything else. Seeing you tonight just made me more worried about you. I don't want to yell at you, I-" He breaks off searching for the right words. "I want to look after you. I know you can look after yourself, normally anyway. But you seem to be in need of a friend and I want that to be me." 

He swallows, waiting for Chirrut's response to that. He knows the danger in the words he just said, knows Chirrut's pride, how much the other boy resents having anyone coddle him, anything that feels like pity, but he can think of no other way of saying it. So he half way expect Chirrut to get angry, to sit up and snap at him, but even that feel like an improvement over the wide eyed, sad stares he's got tonight. 

A small frown forms between Chirrut's brows as he looks at Baze after the boy falls silent.  

Silence stretches between them and Baze feels like the whole world might break apart under the strain of it. 

"It can be you," Chirrut finally said, in that low, vulnerable tone he'd had since he came back. "You- you can look after me." 

The wave of relief that floods through Baze at those words is so intense that he almost breaks into a sob. With a deep breath he reigns it in and squeezes Chirrut's hands lightly. 

With that small gesture Chirrut finally relaxes and some of the pain in his eyes fades away. His eyelids begins to droop and he clearly struggles to keep them open. 

"Sleep now. I'll stay right here," Baze tells him. 

He reaches out and runs a hand over Chirrut's hair, only to stop his movement half way through, not cure if Chirrut wants him to. 

"Is this okay?" he belatedly asks. 

Chirrut has his eyes closed and his breathing is already evening out towards sleep, but he sleepily nods his head. 

"I like that," he mutters, so Baze continues to stroke his hair, feeling the fine strands under his fingers until Chirrut is fast asleep. 

As his friend sleeps Baze studies him, holding his hand, thinking hard about what to do now. 

What he just said is true, he wants to help Chirrut. The thought of what happened to him turns Baze's stomach, but he isn't sure what to do with what Chirrut has told him tonight. Up till now he'd had no clue about it, so while Chirrut seems badly affected by it right now Baze isn't sure if he should get into it further or not.  

On one hand Chirrut not seeming to be affected might mean it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie, but on the other something like that didn't just go away did it? 

Baze feels very young and uncertain, a lot younger than his sixteen years.  

His most immediate impulse had been to ask one of the masters, perhaps Wazir or Zhu Chin, of all of them they seem to understand Chirrut best and Chirrut got on well with them in turn, but he knows that Chirrut would likely never forgive him if he did that. It had taken this much for Chirrut to even allude to it to _him_ and Baze doubts Chirrut would offer any information to anyone else. He was more likely to withdraw into himself completely, maybe even leave the temple if he felt too cornored. 

Sighing heavily, Baze shifts silently on the floor so he doesn't wake Chirrut, but still doesn't let go of his hand. 

 _Why d_ _oes_ _the_ _Force allow such things? If it is a just Force? What has_ _Chirrut ever done to deserve it?_  

He knows bad things happen in the galaxy, he's not ignorant, but he's never been presented with it in so personal a fashion. 

When the midnight call sounds in the temple Baze still hasn't found a solution, no clear course of action, nor answers to his spiritual questions. It leads him to resolve to wait and see. For now there seems to be little else he can do. 

With a sigh he gets off the floor and carefully slides his hand out of Chirrut's so as not to wake him. He runs his hand over Chirrut's hair once more before finally returning to his own bed, undressing and lying down on it after having cleared it of the holotexts he had been reading when Chirrut arrived. Turning off the light, he rolls over on his back and folds his arms beneath his head, staring into the ceiling in the dark. 

Sleep is a long time coming for Baze that night, his head filled with fluttering thoughts and his chest with a tightness that refuses to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that the Gaurdian's chat is a two part thing, with one leading and the other replying, [was my very first headcanon for these two](http://luminousfinn.tumblr.com/post/155172276568/baze-doesnt-start-repeating-chirruts-chant-when), which I came up with three days after having seen the movie.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://luminousfinn.tumblr.com)?
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated, even if I take ages to respond to them. I apologize.


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